


Uphill Battle

by disdainfreely



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Post-Overlord, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 09:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17505674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disdainfreely/pseuds/disdainfreely
Summary: Perceptor finds himself unable to cope after having seen Overlord on the Lost Light.He also refuses to deal with this fact.





	Uphill Battle

Bang.

“I know you don’t like to speak about your time as a Wrecker, but I think you might find it helpful.”

Bang.

“It doesn’t need to be now, of course, but seeing Overlord on the Lost Light must have been upsetting.”

Bang.

“Whenever you wish to speak, I’m here to listen.”

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Perceptor lowers his gun.

Dead center on the target.

He let his skills rust after leaving the Wreckers. He wasn’t good enough and mechs died.

Tripodeca died. 

Rewind died.

He should have been better.

He’s a Wrecker; he should have been better. He shoots until his hears the telltale, frenetic muttering of an approaching Whirl. He doesn’t feel like dealing with the volatile ex-Wrecker right now, not when he just wants quiet. He packs up his rifle and heads up to his lab.

Perhaps the lab wasn’t the best choice, he reflects upon opening the door and seeing Brainstorm hunched over some project or another. Before he can reconsider his options, Brainstorm turns and lights up.

“Hey, Perce! Just the lab partner I was looking for.” Brainstorm shoves whatever he was working on aside, and Primus knows that’s probably trouble. “Hey, I wanted to get your optics on some notes of mine.”

“Later.” Perceptor shakes his head and goes to his own workstation. He ignores the slight droop of wings from his lab partner. “I have work to do now.”

“Yeah...yeah okay.” Brainstorm falls quiet and Perceptor sets his rifle down. He was hitting the bullseye, but there was some resistance he didn’t like after each shot.

Bang.

“Are you sure you’re doing alright?”

Bang.

“You don’t have to talk to me, but you should talk to someone.”

Bang.

“I’m here to help whenever you wish.”

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

He shoots until his palms start to burn with the heat radiating off his rifle. 

Overheating so quickly? He should fix that.

The lab is quiet when he enters, and he takes the opportunity to disassemble his rifle in peace, without Brainstorm trying to distract him. He’s almost done when the door opens.

“Oh, hey Percy. What are you working on?”

“Some minor modifications.”

“Want me to help? Weapons engineering is my specialty.” Perceptor doesn’t have to look to know that Brainstorm is puffing up with pride.

“No, thank you. I’m almost finished.”

“Oh. Okay. Well...let me know?”

Perceptor doesn’t answer. He stays in the lab working for the rest of the night. Brainstorm does as well, working on something accompanied by incomprehensible muttering.

Bang.

“You haven’t been to Swerve’s bar in some time. Mechs are beginning to get concerned.”

Bang.

“You seem to be isolating yourself in your work. Perhaps you might find it comforting to speak to Brainstorm?”

Bang.

“I know you were close with Drift. What happened must be difficult.”

Bang.

“Please, Perceptor. I want to help you, but I can’t force you to speak to me.”

Bang.

He shoots until his targeting scope is unable to track the obliterated target through all the smoke. His targeting scope surely must be better than this. Surely he can make it better.

Brainstorm doesn’t greet Perceptor upon his arrival in the lab, doesn’t even look up from whatever project he’s working on. The quiet is appreciated, but somehow the lack of acknowledgment stings. Brainstorm doesn’t even mutter through the rest of their time working, and the silence is oppressive. The sting of working on his own optic is a welcome diversion.

Bang.

“Perceptor, it’s been weeks. You only go between your habsuite, the shooting range, and your lab. You haven’t spoken willingly to any mech in all that time.”

Bang.

“The crew is worried about you. I am worried about you. I know you’re required to come to these sessions, but you know it would be difficult to force you. I have to believe that you continue to come to me because you want to be helped. Please, Perceptor, let me help you. Please.”

Bang.

Bang. Bang.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang.

The gun falls from suddenly shaking hands. Perceptor looks down at the gun, just laying there innocently on the ground. He bends down to pick it up. He missed his last few shots when his grip was starting to falter. He must be getting rusty.

He doesn’t go to the lab that day.

The next day, Perceptor doesn’t leave his habsuite. He has no need to. He has no purpose.

Or the next day.

Or the next.

He should be practicing, but now even just looking at his rifle sets all his sensors on edge, sets his audials ringing with a cruelly amused voice and a massive hand closing on his helm.

He might have once been a Wrecker, but all the fight seems to have gone out of him.

He tries and fails to recharge, to meditate like Drift once taught him, to mentally work through old math and physics equations to settle himself.

Instead, he thinks of Tripodeca, and Pipes, and Rewind. He thinks of Topspin and Twintwist. He thinks of Rotorstorm.

He sobs until his vocalizer shorts out.

He tries and fails to recharge.

He recalibrates his targeting scope with only the tools he has in his subspace until it’s so sensitive that it automatically focuses on the slightest movement.

When the input becomes too much, he simply turns off his other optic so all visual input comes in through his targeting scope.

When even that becomes overwhelming, he turns it off and sits in total darkness.

He paces sightlessly and mutters and blocks the air vents to help himself feel more secure.

He reactivates his normal optic and brings the targeting optic back on with it, stands perfectly still until his vision settles.

It doesn’t work.

None of it works.

He hates it.

He hates Overlord.

He hates Prowl.

He hates Drift.

He hates himself.

A knock on the door startles Perceptor. He stares at it for a very long moment.

“Hey, Perce, I came to check on you. I brought you some fuel. It’s been a few days since you last came out.”

Perceptor opens the door. His targeting scope instantly locks onto Brainstorm, who’s standing there with two cubes of energon.

“Hey. You doing okay, Perce?” Brainstorm asks, optics narrowed with worry over his mask.

Perceptor stares at him for another long moment.

“No.” It’s both a burden and a relief to say it out loud.

“I know.” Brainstorm’s optics crinkle in an attempt at a smile. “Come on. Let’s fuel you and get you to Rung.” A warm arm encircles his shoulders and Brainstorm leads Perceptor down the hall, voice a steady patter of chatter and equations and meaningless reassurances that fills Perceptor’s audials and forces his spark to settle.

“I’m glad that you’ve come, Perceptor. Shall we talk?”

“Please.”

It’s not much, but it’s a start.


End file.
